Sports and Parents: Usually a Very Bad Combination

I was at the bus stop this morning. This is a good thing, as I don't always make it out the door. Too many kids, too many morning dramas, too many forgotten items usually means I am either driving someone in to school, driving some thing to school or sitting with my five year old while the morning meltdown slowly comes to a sputtering stop. This morning I made it out and was able to talk with actual adults. This is why I look forward to the bus stop mornings. It is not just because three of the four kids are gone for the day, it is mostly because there are other parents with which to converse. I get to catch up on what is going on in the neighborhood, at the schools and around town. This morning was all about sports drama. Who made what team, when which parent found out and who was hopping mad. So much for my daily uplift at the bus stop.

What is it about the combination of parenting and competitive sports that makes the most rational and charming adults turn into a complete idiots? I know that when it comes to my children, I have little perspective. Apparently a little perspective is better than none at all. My boys, in my mind, are either totally horrid (and only I can say that) or complete angels (and that is most likely when they are sleeping). I want to think that they are all bright, athletic, polite, kind and popular. Still, I know that they need help learning certain skills, that they can't always make the right decisions and that they can't always be the best at whatever they try. It is my job to help them learn what they need to learn, make better decisions and feel good about themselves for honest effort, no matter what the end result. I thought that was the definition of parenting. I guess I was grossly misinformed.

Hearing the stories this morning was not unique. It is a tune sung much too often at any given field, court or pool. For that matter, it is often sung at school, at play dates or any other place where some kids excel more than others. In my experience, it seems to be at its very worst during sports. "It isn't fair." "My (child) is better than the child who made the more advanced team." "My (child) should be starting." "My (child) is not getting enough playing time." "My child is not getting enough attention from the coach." "My (child) is not going to play for this team- I'm moving him to a league out of town." Blah, Blah, Blah. Why is this the case? Is it the dreams of glory? It is playing out of dreams deferred? It is blindness? I don't know the psychology behind it, but is mentally exhausting to watch it unfold.

First and more most, they are KIDS. I'm all for learning life lessons from competitive sports, but complaining, bitterness and entitlement, as far as I know, are not the lessons they should be learning. This isn't the NBA, NHL or the Summer Olympics. I'm talking about kids in elementary and middle school. Speaking of the NFL and the like, don't we love the sports hero who takes the time to sign autographs, to visit sick children in the hospital, who looks into the camera and thanks his/her Mom? Don't we secretly hate the sports legend who won't make time for his/her fans, who gets arrested, who makes millions without giving back? Do we honestly think that the virtues that separate these two types of people are born in a vacuum? When a signing bonus, a Nike endorsement contract or a full college scholarship are on the line for your kid, go whole hog! Until then stop and think about what you are really conveying about sports to your kids.

I learned some of the most important life lessons from my years of track and field, soccer, field hockey and basketball. I learned them all the hard way, thorough sweat, sweat and more sweat. Only running came easily to me. The rest, I had to work hard just to make the team. I learned I can not always be the best no matter how much I want it. I learned that a team can't win unless everyone works as a team whether or not you like all your teammates or not. No one wins alone. No matter where you rank in the standings it is a requirement to give support to all your fellow teammates- the best, the worst and the mediocre. I learned that you show and work hard up when a team depends upon you whether you feel like it or not. Every time. No exceptions. I learned that you can work at 100% peak effort everyday of the season just to gain 10% improvement in the end. Still, it is improvement. Never getting in the game, but cheering from the bench after killing yourself in practice after practice is still part of the team. Go ahead and bask in the glory of a first place win but don't act like a jerk to those who came in behind you. I learned that playing dirty is no way to win and still have any self respect. The hardest lesson I learned was you must always respect your coach who, in reality, may be a complete jerk, but who runs the team and therefore is the boss. These all translate into the stuff of life: work, family, responsibility. I never, ever learned that winning was the only lesson.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up when I hear the stories of these crazy sports parents. These are often the same parents who wonder aloud why other parent's kids these days are so entitled, so disrespectful and so lazy. Let the kids play the game. Let the coach coach the teams and let the refs make the calls. Sure, some of the calls are clearly wrong. Of course, not all coaches are fair. So what?! Your kids hear you when you swear about a bad play, when you complain about an incompetent coach, when your face registers disappointment at the loss. Cheer when they win, hit a home run or make a goal. Sympathize when they miss, make an error or don't make the cut. Work with them to improve but don't EVER send them the message that being the best is the only way you will be proud of them. Parents can't play the game for their kids, they can't run their race and they can't will them to pro-sport glory. What can parent can do is to raise decent, competitive, and hard working children. Let that be the lesson you teach.

Now quit your bitchin' or you may get a random slap upside the head from me if I see you at my kid's game.

A Little Cleaning Makes It Okay

I thought that my cleaning gene had hidden itself somewhere in my ovaries, fallopian tubes or other female parts as not one of my sons has ever exhibited any tendency to pick up, clean or tidy unless I became a screaming maniac. I was shocked into silence (no small feat) when my five year old son was found in the bathtub this morning. What makes this so shocking is that he was not bathing (a favorite pastime of all my boys for hours on end with an endless array of plastic men who die in explosions or hails of gun fire) he was CLEANING. Yes, he was on his hands and knees with a wet washcloth cleaning the inside of the tub. I just stood there, mouth agape, wide eyed and silent. He looked up with a big grin and said, "I'm cleaning, Mom!" Indeed he was.

Since this was 8 a.m. and there were two other boys to get out the door to make the school bus, I had to leave this beautiful sight and head down to the kitchen. About 15 minutes later he ambled down the stairs, two damp rags in hand, and proceeded to "wash" the windows that I spent a few hours really washing last weekend. I was quite proud of myself for not screaming "Stop!" as I wouldn't want to damper his cleaning enthusiasm in any way. I simply gently redirected him to come into the kitchen and start on the walls that he and his three brothers had coated in some sort of goo that blends in very well with Benjamin Moore paint I chose in a subtle shade of spring green.

His industrious was infectious, so I grabbed one of his damp cloths, rinsed it out, and started on the other side of the kitchen cleaning more goo off more walls. I tossed it in the laundry basket in the laundry room when I was done and moved on to the breakfast dishes. My darling cleaner looked up and demanded to know what happened to his other cleaning cloth. I explained to him that the cloths had to be washed when they were done being used to clean out all the dirt and germs. He replied, "Yeah, that's a good idea. I think they had some germs because I used them to clean the toilet."

After returning to a shade of pale better than the green I was a moment before, I had to laugh. Although it was very, very bad that my kitchen walls were now covered in whatever four boys had sprayed all over their bathroom walls over the last few days, I had to be grateful that the toilet was indeed clean. (Or at least as clean as a five year old can make it.) If there is one thing I hate more than cheap, imitation leather shoes, it is cleaning the bathroom. This has been exacerbated four-fold (really 1,000-fold) since I have four semi-potty trained boys living in my house. I say semi-trained, because no matter the age- between 11 and 5- not one of them consistently pees IN the toilet. There is always something left on the rim, the sides, the floor, the wall, the radiator and/or the side of the sink cabinet. It always amazes me how little pee actually makes it in the waiting toilet water. Well, at least one of them attempted to clean it up.

After an hour of scrubbing with 409, gloves, clean cloths, and more 409, my kitchen walls are sparking. I rewashed all the windows in the bathroom and living room with glass cleaner, along with the bathroom mirror and bathroom sink. All in all, my little cleaner added an extra hour of intense cleaning to my day, but it was worth it. The look of pride on his face in a job"well done" and at his own initiative was priceless. I betting that it will be another five years or so before he does it again on his own, but I could be wrong. I guess the cleaning gene found its way out of my girl parts after all.

Ski Lessons at 43: What I Learned

Wow. I'm Upright.

I cannot believe that it has been 20 years since I last skied. I actually has to stop and think about it because it seems incomprehensible to me that so much time has passed in what feels like a blink of an eye. Twenty years ago this March, I blew my right anterior cruciate ligament on a soft, slushy spring green trail in New Hampshire. The jerk I was dating at the time, a big skier, was annoyed with me that I hurt myself. Needless to say, that relationship lasted another week or so but that is another story for a bottle of wine and a therapist in tow... Anyway, since this was 1992, there was no arthroscopic surgery. I had reconstructive surgery which included 6 inch scar down the front of my knee and 6 weeks in a leg brace. When I heard the diagnosis from my surgeon, I burst into tears! He had repaired my left ACL in 1988 (this time soccer) when that entailed two 12 inch scars down either side of my knee and 9 months in a leg brace from ankle to thigh. I was "lucky" that the surgery had evolved to be so much less evasive. Now, this procedure is day surgery with 2 small scope holes and you walk out with an ace bandage. Timing is everything. The day I blew my second knee was the last day I saw a ski slope. I vowed never again.

As the saying goes, never say never. My husband (clearly not the jerk from the above story but the jerk did made it possible for me to appreciate all the wonderful qualities he has) loves to ski. Now that my four boys are older, they like to ski too. I was content letting him take them sporadically over the last two years by himself. Now there are 4 old enough to ski and I had a choice: I could stay home and give in to the fear of injury or I could participate in a family activity that actually got us out of the house during the winter. I sucked it up and headed for the slopes. I went once last year and was terrified. I was so stiff, I looked like a cartoon character, a stick figure on skis. I took charge of the 4 year old, who was absolutely fearless, and together we fell up the tow rope and down the bunny trail. Yikes.

After a particularly good financial year this December, my husband proposed that we buy skis for the family and make skiing a regular winter activity for 2011-2012 season. Long pause from me...Okay, I agreed but was screaming WHY! in my head. After dropping an obscene amount of money for skis, bindings, boots, jackets, bags, gloves for 6 people and a transport carrier, I knew I was screwed. There was no way I was avoiding this. Off we headed for the smallest, most family friendly ski area around us- King Pine. I tried the tow line and the bunny hill again, this time with the whole family. I fell. I got up and I fell again. I was pissed. What the hell was I doing!?! I shot my husband a particularly dirty look and stormed into the lodge to fume, get warm and find some perspective.

I decided to take a ski lesson. I never took a ski lesson when I originally learned to ski. I was 22 years old, in top physical shape, cocky and fearless. In one season I went from falling in front of the lodge doors to bombing down blue trails with reckless abandon. I'm sure that the schnapps I slugged down every so often had something to do with my bravado. It was a shock to me that my knee gave out on such an easy slope on such a warm day after all the crazy skiing I had done. What I never learned about skiing was the basics. I only learned how to keep up with much faster, more experienced skiers. I needed to start over and gain some confidence.

My first ski instructor was a lovely, fit women in her late 50s. After hearing my tale of woe, she was very attentive to my my fears and my knees. She started me on a bunny slope, but that lasted one run. She told me my muscles clearly remembered how to ski, I just needed to loosen up and gain some confidence. It was much easier without kids to worry about and a husband to impress. After our first run down the easiest trail, she asked me if I practiced yoga. I was surprised by the question. It has been 9 months since I started Bikram Yoga. She told me that yoga and skiing go well together and it was easier to give instructions about body position and balance to a yoga practitioner. I then had a real "Aha" moment.

I have been practicing yoga with a variety of expectations, not the least of which hoping that the stillness between the postures will bring to a place where I can find stillness and peace when dealing with my children. Nothing like a screaming household full of boys to bring my blood to a rapid boil. I have progressed to competence in the physical postures. The practice has greatly strengthened and healed my knees. That is easy to see. The determination, patience and stillness is virtually impossible to even see as the practice progresses. Despite not seeing or it or noticing it, I have gained a great deal of mental clarity through my yoga. The fact that I was willing to take on something that terrified me is in part due to my yoga practice. The fact that I could concentrate so deeply and feel what my body was doing as it was doing it was entirely due to my yoga practice. The confidence I felt in my body and trusting that it would tell me when enough was enough was also due to yoga. All the stillness between the postures was working its magic. I am able to focus and concentrate with intensity. It was the first time I both respected my body and trusted it entirely. That is quite a revelation at 43. What was even more impressive was the understanding that the yoga is helping me focus on myself. This is what I need to do to get through the tough days with the kids. I realized that yoga isn't a magic bullet to conjure up instant peace, it is a long process of taking care of one's self first so the rough patches are easier to take. I was looking for the magic bullet when all I needed to do was understand that, like in an airplane, I just needed to put on my own oxygen mask before helping my loved one with theirs.

The rest of the ski story is in the making. I am now a "novice" skier who can ease down a gentle slope while only occasionally wobbling and even less often falling. As in most things, I have a sense of humor about the falling part. Don't get me wrong, falling totally sucks, but I have to laugh. I am 43 years old and have spent too much of my time and energy over the years worrying about looking "cool," "sophisticated" and "in control." It's impossible to be any of those things while toddlers swoosh by a stiff and wobbly me with complete confidence on the bunny slope. I'm sure the wisdom that comes with age has something to do with this change in attitude, but I know that the yoga has something to do with it as well. The yoga taught me that it is never about competing with others, only yourself. There is only so much I can do on the slopes right now and I can bitch about it and feel self conscious or I can enjoy it. For a change, I have chosen the later, though so much more witty wisecracks and great one-liners come from the former.

Ski lessons at 43 have taught me that it is really never to late to learn something new. I have learned that there is no such thing as looking foolish while trying because the alternative is to sit on the sidelines and let life pass by. I learned that I am a better with time to myself to process new things and situations than I am while simultaneously being a mother. Maybe it is because I don't have to worry about anyone else or maybe because I don't need to be a control freak or a some combination of the two. Ski lessons at 43 have taught me that I need to take care of myself first before I can take care of anyone else without resentment. I have also learned that the fear of falling is much worse than the fall itself. I guess I got my money's worth from those lessons after all!

So far, so good. Happy skiing.

Seeking Inspiration

I had a few hours to myself this afternoon. No small feat in this house. The grocery shopping was done, there were no doctors appointments, no repair or maintenance people making house calls, not even the urge to go out an shop. (I know, go figure?!?) So I decided to see what was on my TiVo, as I hadn't looked at it since we lost power last Saturday. I had only one show on the saved box- 18 newly aired episodes of Oprah's Lifeclass. I was interested in the concept of the show, but somehow, I have felt reluctant to watch it. I had been in a t.v. funk ever since Oprah and Entourage went off the air. I had it all recorded, so I decided to give it a try. I don't know what it is about Oprah, but I am always amazed by the emotional connection I have to most of what she puts on the air. I was a huge fan of her daily show, especially when she decided to explore matters of the heart and spirit. I felt very inspired by her prime time Big Give, after which I started my first writing project, a year long blog about committing random acts of kindness. I am once again inspired, but this time I need some help to get on track.

While watching her ruminate on the topic of "Joy Rising" I felt inspired. She is able to give in a big way and make a huge impact on the lives of many deserving people. She utilized that ability to give away a car to each member of her audience (carefully selected by need). She had the ability to give away a house to a deserving single mother. She even had the ability to give someone's acting career, their life-long dream, a jump start. Sitting watching this, I clearly understood that I have not been inspired in a very long time. I watched as both the giver and the recipient felt real inspiration and real joy. I realized that my source of unhappiness and discontent over the years is not what I thought it was. I thought because I had chosen to stay at home with my kids instead of pursuing my career that this was the source of my frustration and lack of fulfillment. I had never been quite satisfied with that conclusion. Despite searching for answers in mediation, reading, a trip or three to Kirpalu and many hours of yoga I still felt stuck. The truth is that my source of despair has been my lack of inspiration. I need to be creative, to find my voice and use it to help others. I feel this very clearly and understand viscerally that I can make myself and my family much happier by putting my talents to work in a way that both feeds my creativity and gives to my community. I want to "get" by giving back. That's the big picture. I need help with the details.

I am looking for ideas. My general idea is inspired by Mother Theresa: "Do small things with great love." I would like to undertake some sort of small project that will benefit someone or some group in my community. I want to do something that fulfills a needs that is not being fulfilled. I remember reading about a woman who, as a social worker, saw daily the need for struggling families to get clean diapers. In so seeing the need, she started a small charity collecting diapers and distributing them to needy families. The impact was immediate and real. Children were drier, homes were cleaner and children were less likely to get sick. This has now grown into very large and productive charity. This is the general idea, direction and inspiration I am talking about. I would like to do something like this with my time and talent. I want to do something that inspires me, fulfills me and uplifts me without having to give up all the time and attention my children still require. This feels very much like a calling- a "Aha Moment."

Send me your ideas. E-mail me. Call me up, let's chat. Reply to this post. With your help, I know that the next chapter is waiting to be written.

30 Day Birkram Yoga Challenge: What I Learned

I undertook a 30 day Bikram Yoga challenge at the start of this September. I am happy to say that I completed 29 of the 30 days. I am also frustrated that something got in my way of full completion, but sometimes that's the price one pays for being a Mom. Kids always come first. That said, I was surprised myself with the determination I felt to complete this challenge. Somewhere along the way I realized that it has been a very long time since I have challenged myself with anything substantial. Seeing how fast I can do mounds of laundry or how much frustration I can take without blowing a gasket is not quite the same thing as passing the bar exam or swaying a jury to a favorable verdict. This, like most difficult things I have undertaken by choice, was "all about me." What that actually meant was a lesson in and of itself.

When the challenge was presented to me during a intermittent yoga class, I thought it would be a great way to jump start some weight loss. My pants were getting a bit too tight and I wanted to do something about it. That was really the extent of my thought process. After the first week, I was comfortably fitting into my clothes. That is where the superficiality of the challenge ended and the real work began.

Bikrim Yoga is all about the mind and very little to do with the body. This appears ridiculous on its face; just look at the yogis in the above postures. Nevertheless, it is the essential truth of yoga. I have never been one to sit still. People close to me have often remarked wryly that I have no idea how to relax. I am always busy, always moving, always on to the next thing to accomplish. The yoga is about staying in the moment with nothing but yourself and the voice of the instructor. No crutches, no excuses, no distractions. Ugh. This can be next to impossible for me. Random thoughts run through my head just as they do when I attempt mediation. "What should I make for dinner?"- "Who needs clean underwear?"-- "Why the hell does it have to be so damn hot in here?!"- "Why can't my body look like hers!?!"- "Oh, look, a fly on the wall"... You know the drill. My mind does not want to turn off. This is because within the stillness is the ultimate expression of self care. God knows I want to take care of everyone but myself. Yet, when I neglect myself, I am unable to care for anyone, especially myself. Most women I know are this living, breathing paradox.

I also found that I am not quite as strong as I believed and yet, stronger than I knew. When a particular class was not going well, when I could not shut my mind off, I wanted to bolt. "Never underestimate the inclination to bolt." Geneen Roth taught me that. There is much to learn in exploring the reasons for wanting to bolt from the room, the situation, the feeling. I often want to bolt because I want the easy way out. I don't want to do the hard work, to look in the damn mirror, or to "just breathe through it." I want it done and over. I want to wallow in the difficulty. It's hard, damn it. In this way, I am a bit of a princess. I want others to see how hard I am trying. I want it all without having to kill myself to get it. So, there were days I when I bolted. But, I always came back. I didn't have to come back, but I needed to, thus, I am stronger than I believed.

I learned some insightful and unexpected things from these classes. One of the most profound and interesting to me was the power of the human voice. Did you ever see a photograph of someone or meet someone in person that you only heard on the phone or on the radio? More often than not, that person is never what you imagined. I think that the human voice carries with it a true reflection of the human soul, if only you listen closely enough. I had the opportunity to listen intently for 90 minutes to many different instructors. I did not watch them very much and I hardly know them outside the context of the yoga room. However, I am certain that I know a great deal about the real person that each of them is- who they are at their essence. One instructor is often referred to as "tough" in the drill sergeant sense of the term. I think that is the last thing she is. Yes, she is serious about what she is teaching. She believes in doing it the right way and making us do it that right way every time without excuses. Yet for me, what really comes through is the underlying compassion and caring she has for the individuals in the room. She really cares if we are healthy and happy. This isn't because she pretends to give a crap about our bellyaching; its just the opposite. This is why she is "tough." The essence of her being can be heard in the inflections and the intensity of her voice. The goodness of her soul is in the room when she speaks.

There is another instructor who recites the yoga cues with joy. When she is teaching she loves what she is doing and you can hear it in every word. She doesn't giggle, crack jokes or do any of the other things that we do in a normal day-to-day expression of happiness. You simply hear joy in her voice. On the days when I want to bolt and she is teaching, I don't. She makes me believe that it is a joy to be in the room even when my body is screaming that it is not. This is why I think that some voices don't match the faces we imagine. In this case, she appears to be a very serious, strong, intense woman. To look at her without hearing her, you would not necessarily think "joy." However, I believe that what we hear is the true expression of "what is on the inside." It is a true test of "seeing" what matters by hearing what is the essence of the individual. With no visual, there is nothing to shield us from our voices- no phony smiles, no half-hearted understanding nods, no fake looks of heartfelt concern. I invite you to try this more in your daily life. I think that you will find that pretty packages really don't guarantee a beautiful person.

Another unexpected thing I found is that pain is what you believe it to be. No more. No less. Real pain cannot be ignored. Injury and illness will not let you continue in the hot room. I have been driven out twice in six months with a stomach virus and once with back pain so intolerable that I was literally crying into my yoga mat. One has to deal with real pain. I had to stop to deal with the problem, to heal and then move forward. The other kind of "pain" is all in my head. And, boy, my head likes to win in an argument with my body. Once I fixate on discomfort- the heat in the room, the dryness in my throat, the ache in my muscles- I am hard pressed to move beyond it. In this way I was surprised to find I carried with me more than a bit of weakness. After all, I was ready to complete quasi-military training at Quantico, Virgina. I was a preliminary hire with the F.B.I. in 2000. I now wonder if I would have made it through the training. Would I have given in to the discomfort? Would the mental challenges undo my ambition or would I have persevered? There is no way to know, but I do know that I would have struggled mightily. At the time, that is something that I just would not have expected.

I also learned that nothing is all about me. Putting myself first entails a great deal of support from many people. My husband, first and foremost, is the reason I can search for my best self. Without his support, without him getting into the trenches and taking on more than he has to and the fact that I know he is glad to do it, I could not have done this. I also realize that there has been a great many things that I thought I did on my own but he really has supported me in doing. The secret of his success is his humility, unwavering support and deep and abiding love. Who knew that a yoga class could make a marriage stronger? It did. For that alone, I will be forever grateful.

What I learned was that this 30 day challenge was about self discovery. I have discovered that I have been far from myself for a very long time, maybe even all my life. I have discovered that I want to learn who I am, what I am capable of and what really matters to me. In the stillness between the postures, in the heat of the room, I can hear my authentic self. I haven't heard her over the noise of what everyone else wants, what every else expects and what I myself produce out of fear. The sound of my authentic self still isn't heard very often and when she is heard, she is very faint, but I am learning to listen. I am not quite sure what she is trying to tell me or what she wants me to understand. With patience, fortitude, support and a great deal of stillness, I hope to hear more. These first 30 days has been only the beginning of a very long and overdue journey. It will be very interesting to see what unfolds and what other truths are revealed.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

My Dad

"Papa" with Baby David

(Grandson #8)

Things I've Learned From My Dad:

Wear sunscreen

Everyone needs alone time

One need not be religious to be moral

Babies are for holding, rocking and snuggling

The Doors are essential to any musical library

Fathers can be counted on in all times of crisis

The only person you need to impress is yourself

You are never too old to "cannonball" into the pool

If you have the money and time, travel, travel, travel

Nothing beats a good dirty joke for a real, loud belly laugh

Life is too short to waste time with stupid or annoying people

Anyone can be silenced by one well timed and well aimed "look"

Parenting never stops no matter what age your children reach

There is no guarantee that the money management gene will

be passed from father to daughter

If you have nothing nice to say, its better to say nothing at all

Patriotism is not just a sentiment; it is demonstrated by sacrifice

Fixing the things that need to be fixed and plowing the driveway after a snowstorm

are all ways to say "I Love You"

You can never watch too much of the History, Military or National Geographic channel

All human experiences may be understood through a quote from a great war movie

One doesn't need to earn a degree to be one of the smartest people in the room

Unless you own stock in the electric company, turn off the damn lights!

Honoring your parents is not an option, it is a lifetime commitment

The true test of character may be found in one's work ethic

If you are gonna laugh, you might as well do it with gusto

Peace may be found on a lake or in a walk in the woods

Boys of every age love baseball, fishing and boob jokes

Don't ever drive when you are really, really mad

but

Driving fast is one of the great joys of life

Anything can be fixed with a roll of duct tape

You are never too old to act like a big kid

Grandsons are very entertaining

They are also very, very loud

Diners are a culinary delight

There is a big difference between a father and a dad...

Happy Father's Dad.

If These Shoes Could Talk: A Closet Full of Clothes and Nothing to Wear

It's Monday! That means it's time for "Conversations from My Closet"...

I woke up this morning in a mood. I wasn't exactly hating life, but I wasn't loving it either. Everyone was annoying me and everything was bugging me. I hadn't even left my room or spoken to a soul, but this was my reality nonetheless. It didn't take me or anyone else I live with too long to figure out I was suffering from P.M.S. Or rather, everyone else was suffering from my P.M.S. because it really wasn't bothering me all that much. Then I made the mistake of trying to get dressed. I had a closet full of clothes and absolutely nothing to wear. I hated everything. I didn't have the right shoes, the right clothes, the right anything. That is when my P.M.S. started to bother me.

My husband has figured out that there is a direct correlation between the severity of my P.M.S. and the length of time it takes me to find something to wear. If he walks into the bedroom and the bed is covered with discarded clothing, he knows he better run like hell! I have been known to try on about 20 articles of clothing making various ensembles, changing variations, shoes, accessories, even underwear trying to put together something on that doesn't make me cry, scream or cringe. This process ultimately ends up with me wearing one of my go-to schlump outfits of baggy shorts, a baggy dress or baggy sweatpants. This is not a good thing for anyone.

I had one of those days today. My closet had little or nothing to say to me. It was silent in its disapproval of both my mood and my outrageous expectations. Isn't it amazing that once P.M.S. kicks in I suddenly have the need to look like Cindy Crawford? Funny how once my hormones become completely out of whack I can't stand any of my physical flaws. I also don't have any sense of humor about any of them. Without a sense of humor, my closet has little or nothing to say to me. Come to think of it, without a sense of humor, no one has much to say to me. Could it be the red horns protruding from my forehead and steam coming out of my ears?!

After giving up in frustration, I stomped to the kitchen for breakfast. Today's breakfast consisted of a half of a Twix candy bar, a chocolate chip granola bar, a few diet cokes over ice and a blood pressure pill. After Tim took in that breakfast scene, he loaded up the boys and headed for the hills. Literally. They went for a hike and I went back upstairs for a nap. I'll wait until I regain my sanity, sense of humor and hormonal balance before trying to resume any sort of conversation with my closet.

See you back here next week. In the meantime, you can find my family somewhere in the White Mountain National Forest.